


One thousand pounds

by Tantaylor



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Charity Auctions, M/M, Master/Slave, sm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25992877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tantaylor/pseuds/Tantaylor
Summary: An unusual charity auction
Relationships: Nick Rhodes/Roger Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	One thousand pounds

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my mother tongue, no beta.  
> Please leave feedback  
> Thank you

_What the hell did I think?_

Roger shifted uncomfortably.  
Why did he let himself be talked into such bullshit?

_Well, you little weirdo, you may find the concept stupid, and yet it turns you on._

Okay, so much honesty about himself had to be, because it was true. He was turned on.  
He felt completely stupid, didn't dare raise his eyes, and yet...  
His dick, that filthy traitor, twitched happily.

“So let`s the auction begin” his friend Tony announced.  
The word alone made his stomach twist. Auction. Slave auction, to fully name it.

When Tony called him two weeks ago to ask him if he would join in, he just snorted contemptuously into the phone.  
“Yeah, man, I know you don't like these terms. But you also know that such things are common in our scene. What else should we call it, Rog? Subby bidding? Sounds kind of uncool if you ask me. Come on, man! It`s for charity. We donate the money to an organization that cares for victims of domestic violence. A further step, so that people finally understand that consensual SM is not violence.”  
Roger wanted to disagree. He knew that there was also violence in S&M relationships. But the magic word was consensual, right? An almost philosophical question. Was consensual violence not violence? And what if it tips over? If the Dom did not accept the safe word, if the sub was too much in subspace to take care of himself?  
But he understood what Tony wanted to say.  
If everything went well, if boundaries were accepted and people trusted each other, then SM was a deep, good, fulfilling thing.  
A thing he`s been missing for far too long.  
Tony was a good guy. He owned a gay club, a gay SM-club, and Roger knew that the safety of his guests, especially the submissive ones, was a top priority for the man. There were strict rules in his club, and anyone who didn't abide by them was fired. No ifs, ands or buts.

Sighing, he swallowed his disagreement.  
“I dunno, Tony, slave auction? I just don`t like the sound of it.”  
“Liar! You might not like the words, but you like the thought behind it, right? I've known you a few years, my friend. I know you like to be naked. I know you take pride in your body. And you like the thrill of the unknown. You are safe at the club. Roger. Let me explain to you how this is gonna work.  
You fill out a list. The things you like, the things you don't like. The people who want to bid have to stick to what's on that list. If someone bids on you, they get two hours with you. Our security people will monitor the whole thing closely. If you don't like the guy, you can refuse, of course, and the bidder will get his money back. If you cancel after an hour, half of it will be returned to him. It's role-playing, Roger. It's role-playing for a good cause. No danger, no risk. You haven't been to the club in a long time and I'm not going to ask you why. But I think you miss it. Come on, what have you got to lose? Maybe you'll meet someone who'll fit in well.”  
Tony talked him around for another hour, and finally he agreed, because, yes, by God, he missed it, and the club was actually a safe environment, right? 

So now he knelt naked on stage in Tony's club, naked except for a ridiculously small leather loincloth and collar and felt incredibly stupid. Judging by the volume, it was very crowded, but he just couldn't bring himself to look at the people in front of the stage.

_What a good sub you are, just keep your eyes on the ground. Must look mighty submissive._

He chuckled quietly.

They were ten. Ten men kneeling in a row, collared and with their hands resting on spread thighs, palms up. Ten times pure cliché in a row.

That meant, now there were only nine, nine kneeling, because Tony had just taken the first one to the edge of the stage, where he praised him like a piece of meat, a slave.

Roger felt nausea rise up inside him. 

_Relax, man! It's just a game. Nobody really buys people here._

They were 15 at the start, but five of them bailed at the last minute. 

For a moment, he wished he'd done the same. He could be sitting at the bar right now with a drink. Smoke a cigarette. Wear clothes.  
“Sold for 550 pounds.”  
_550 pounds, Jesus. Not bad._  
Roger cast an unobtrusive glance at the man who had just been auctioned off. His name was Mark, if he remembered correctly. They had had a quick chat in the dressing room. Mark was handsome, no question, and at least 10 years younger than he was.  
Again he got a little sick. What if nobody bid for him? Or, almost worse, if someone got two hours with him for the minimum bid?  
After all, he was over 40, and most of the participants were younger. Or at least they looked it.  
What would it do to his ego, 50 pounds minimum bid?  
He involuntarily pulled in his stomach and flexed his biceps.  
Then he finally raised his head, straightened his back and looked at the audience.

_Fuck. Oh bloody fucking fuck._

Crowded, it was indeed crowded. Like, wow!  
He lowered his eyes again, feeling his face flushing with heat. Holy cow.  
There were at least 200 people in front of the stage. Most of them were probably just curious onlookers, but still.  
Tony praised the next one, then the one after that, which Roger only noticed in passing, as he concentrated on breathing deeply and calmly.  
It was only when the man beside him stood up and he realised that he was going to be next that his pride came out.  
He would not be satisfied with the minimum bid. Never.  
_Roger Taylor, you're so fucking vain._  
He almost laughed at himself.  
And then it happened. Tony turned to him and winked, gave him the signal to get up.  
He took a deep breath and tried to get on his feet as elegantly as possible, which was not easy after the long kneeling.  
The first bids swarmed through the room even before he had taken his place next to Tony, and he grinned contentedly, which certainly didn't look a bit submissive.  
That was a good thing, because he was not someone who would simply submit to another. He liked the fight, the trial of strength, he needed someone who was really dominant and not just pretending.  
He let his eyes wander over the audience and hoped that his charisma attracted the right people. Someone who appreciates the challenge as much as he does.

"Seven hundred." 

_What, seven hundred? We've only been to 150 and Tony hasn't said a word yet._

Finding the bidder was a lost cause considering the crowd, but he tried. Unsuccessfully, of course.  
“Seven-fifty.”  
“Thousand”  
Oh well, that was really very flattering, if a little disturbing. Could it have been some obsessive fan? 

No one at the club had ever let him know that he recognized him, but maybe that was because of Tony's strict rules. No conversations about work or private life, if not explicitly desired. Most people here probably didn't even use their real name.  
Roger had always introduced himself by his real name, if only by his first name. He just didn't want to be addressed as someone he wasn't. Quite a few subs were content to be called sub or slave or boy, but he hated that. In a real relationship you would be able to talk about that, but not at a scene with a stranger in a gay club.

“Sold for one thousand pounds!”

The crowd parted like the Red Sea to let the successful bidder enter the stage. And when the man finally stood in front of him, his heart skipped quite a few beats.

_No! No fucking way!_

That was no stranger! Absolutely not.  
“What the fu…”  
"Silence! My two hours, my rules. You'll speak only when I allow you to, is that clear?”

Incredibly green, very familiar eyes pierced into his own and Roger shivered. 

How could a glance be so cold and glowing hot at the same time, so bloodcurdlingly intense?

“Did you hear what I said? Now, either you use your safe word and get out of this, or you do what I say.”

They duelled with glances. Had Roger's heart stopped before, it was now pounding at an almost frightening speed.

_Am I dreaming this? How is this possible? What the hell is he doing here? What do I do now? Is this a stupid joke or what?_

“You're a stubborn one, aren't you? Make up your mind. Yes or no? Just nod or shake your head.”

“Nick…”

“Sir to you. And I did not give you permission to speak.”

Nick… _oh god, NICK_ … spoke calmly and serenely. His eyes were still relentlessly focused on Roger, he didn't even seem to blink.  
“I…”  
A slender, well-manicured hand came down with full force on his right cheek.  
Did he put that on the list? That he was into slaps? His brain suddenly seemed empty.  
They were halfway to the playrooms when Roger realized he must have nodded.  
Nick had hooked a finger into the silver ring of his collar and dragged him along. Not that he really had to pull at the ring. Roger followed him willingly, even though he had not been aware of it until that second.  
He had been defeated. Just like that. With a look, a very calm voice and a single slap in the face.  
He, the fighter on whom quite a few wannabe Doms had already bitten their teeth out.  
He would analyse it later. His subconscious had obviously decided to follow this man. And you're supposed to trust your instincts, aren't you? 

Even if this man was his former friend and band mate, Nick Rhodes. 

**********************************************************************************

_Don't think. For fuck's sake, don't think. Trust your instincts, trust your experience._

Nick made his way through the crowd towards the playrooms, doing his best not to run. Or worse, triple over.  
It was really and truly Roger. Not, as he had thought at first, someone who just looked a lot like him. 

And he had bought him at auction. In a gay SM club. Wearing nothing but a loincloth and a collar.

Was there such a thing as fate? Fortune?

It was only seven days ago that his old friend Vic called. Exactly a week ago last Saturday.

“Get your leather pants out, Sir Nicholas, I'm taking you to the hottest S&M club in town tonight.”  
“I don't have time for this, Victor.”  
“You do, my friend. You are in desperate need of some relaxation. You can just sit at the bar and look at half-naked guys. And who knows, maybe something will turn up. The playrooms are great, and there are plenty of willing subs. “

“I also have no time for willing subs.”

“Then you just watch. Come on! One drink, and if you don't like it, you can always leave.”

So they had gone to this club together. 

Nick liked the decor, the atmosphere and most of all, the owner, Tony. A slim, wiry Italian who personally welcomed each new guest and explained the rules over a drink.

You only came in here if you were recommended by someone who was already a member of the club, and Vic seemed to be a regular.  
Much to Nick's surprise, Tony came back to them at the bar later and asked him for a private conversation.  
“I don't usually do this. Discretion is very important here.”

Tony poured whisky for them when they were sitting in his office. 

“But you might run into each other, so I wanted to give you a heads up. You're not the only member of your band who goes to this club. Well, he's an ex-member. Could that be a problem? He's a good friend of mine, and he just got out of a pretty bad relationship. The last thing he needs right now is someone to cause him trouble. So promise me that there won't be any trouble if you meet him here.”

“No offence, Tony, but I`m pretty sure that none of my band mates or ex band mates is into men, yet alone into SM.”

_Why does the man say such nonsense? What is this? Some psychopathic double is up to no good again?_

“Well, Mr. Rhodes, you're dead wrong. Not only is he gay, but he's also submissive. Though you might not notice it right away, because he's also quite intractable. Took him a while to admit it to himself. To be gay and to be into pain and submission. But he's as strong as he is stubborn, and once he's made a decision, he sticks to it. I won't mention his name because that would be breaking my own rule. What I find particularly fascinating is that somehow he has managed to separate from his wife in friendship. I never thought that was possible. We Italians are actually very quick-tempered and resentful. Think about what I said. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

Pretty confused, Nick had gone back to the bar, and only when he sat next to Victor again did he grasp the meaning of Tony's words.  
We Italians.  
He remembered a feudal wedding in Naples, a radiant Italian bride. The groom had looked very handsome in his silver-grey suit.  
As if stung by an adder, he dashed back to Tony's office. He burst in without knocking.

“Tony, I need his address. His phone number. Anything.”

“I am sorry, Mister Rhodes, I can`t give out any private information. But maybe you are interested that next Saturday there will be an auction for a good cause and that a mutual friend of ours has been persuaded to take part.”

“An auction?”

“A slave auction, yes. The highest bidder gets two hours with his temporary property, according to the usual rules, of course. I'm going to get a coffee from the bar. Would you like one?”  
Tony leafed through a pile of papers, pulled one out and put it on top.  
Nick became more and more confused; his eyes flew back and forth between the very expensive Italian coffee machine and the pile of paper on the desk.

“I don't believe in coincidence, Mr. Rhodes. Do you?” Tony grinned.

“Espresso. Lots of sugar. Thank you very much.”

“I see we understand each other. I'll probably need some time. Busy at the bar at this hour.”

With a wink, the man left his office and closed the door behind him.

Not a second later Nick had the sheet in his hand. It was a list. One that was not uncommon in the scene. Preferences, no-go’s.  
Roger. The name was on the upper left-hand corner. A few remarks were handwritten on the sheet.

After he felt he had read through the list a hundred times, he put it back on the pile.

Roger. Unbelievable. 

Roger Taylor seemed like a perfect fit for Nick Rhodes. Who would have thought that? 

Somehow his brain still refused to comprehend the full implications.

What did Tony say? He didn't believe in coincidence? Neither did he.

Nick reached for a post-it and wrote:  
Thanks, see you next Saturday. 

He left the office, had a taxi called and said goodbye to a very surprised Victor.

And now he was here, pulling Roger by the collar behind him.

That means he didn't really have to pull. It wasn't that Roger put up much of a fight.  
**********************************************************************************

The door to the playroom had to remain open because complete strangers were playing together here. The guards would regularly check all rooms.

Now, the man standing in front of him was no stranger. Or was he?  
"Put that silly thing down."  
Nick pointed to the loincloth, and although Roger felt the same way... that thing was really silly... he suddenly felt very naked.  
Taking off that last piece of clothing, be it ever so ridiculous, was surprisingly difficult.  
“Did you hear what I said?”  
_Holy crap, this voice. And that look! Those eyes. Amazing._

He blushed, like he was a bloody beginner. As if he hadn't undressed before others, often on command.

Why was it so different this time?

_Because that's Nick, you idiot._

“Roger, if this simple request is too much for you, maybe Tony should give me my money back. I bought a slave, not some blushing virgin.”

He wanted to protest. He wasn`t a slave. For no one. Not anymore. Never again.  
_Relax, Roger Andrew! You have just been sold at a slave auction. It's fucking role-playing. Don't take it so terribly seriously._  
Nick just stood there and watched him with that look that was cold and hot at the same time.  
The green eyes as always framed with black kohl, so disturbingly familiar. So fucking intense.

With a slight shiver he pushed the silly loincloth down. It landed at his feet.  
Nick`s beautiful lips turned into a satisfied, somewhat ironic smile.  
"There you go. Now please lie down on the bondage bench. On your stomach. Looks like you and I are gonna have to get to know each other all over again. I must say, I was quite surprised. And delighted. Yes, really, I'm very, very delighted.”  
Roger was glad to lie down. His legs felt like Jell-O. Nick attached the leather cuffs to his wrists and ankles and connected them to the metal rings with short chains. Those bondage benches were indeed very useful.  
Now Roger lay on his stomach with his arms and legs spread. There was not much room to move.  
“Well, if that's not a pretty sight, I don't know what is. Before we start, Roger, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a very successful band, and for some reason the guitarist and the drummer of this band decided at some point that they didn't want to play anymore and disappeared. They didn't just leave, they disappeared. A new, good guitarist was quickly found, and he's still around. A drummer, however, seemed a lot harder to find. Especially the bass player mourned this special connection with this drummer, who just disappeared from the scene. And said bass player was the keyboard player's best friend, so this best friend tried to find the drummer. This one drummer. But as hard as he searched, he couldn't find him. He started to worry because he had always liked him a lot and thought they were more than just two people who had played in the same band. He actually thought they were friends. But friends didn't just disappear. Over the years, this keyboard player found out that he liked men. It took him a while to realize that he was not only into fucking them, but also, if not mainly, into inflicting pain and subjugating them…no, Roger, not a word! Listen to me, the story's not over.  
So, he determined that he was probably a dominant sadist. Unfortunately he also had to realize that it was not easy to find a suitable counterpart. After a few years of unfulfilling attempts to find a matching partner, he concentrated on the music. But sooner or later, every time he stood on stage and looked over to the drum kit, or when he was in the studio programming that stupid drum computer, he always had to think about that one drummer. And at some point those thoughts took another direction. Suddenly he wanted to punish the man, hurt him. Of course not in a way the drummer wouldn't like, no. He should like it. He should whimper and beg and plead and be horny. Horny, naked and tied up on his stomach in front of him. That's funny, Roger, isn't it? It's like my little secret dirty dream has somehow been beamed into reality.”

Again, Roger wanted to protest, wanted to tell his side of the story, but he was silenced with the first, quite unexpected blow of a cane across his back.  
One single stroke, and he was catapulted into subspace. Sub heaven. Sub universe.  
And my, did he beg and plead and whimper!  
**********************************************************************************  
“How's the weather in LA, Nigel?”

“Hot. You haven't called in a while.”

“I've been pretty busy.”  
Nick smiled as brown, dreamy eyes met his and he combed his fingers through the dark mane of the man kneeling in front of him.  
A month had passed since the auction. A wonderful, exciting, very fulfilling month.

John laughed. “Business or pleasure, Nicholas?”

“An extraordinary mix of both, my friend. In fact, my occupation kneels before me right now. He's very versatile, you know? Still cuts a fine figure behind the drums, too. You know, you really ought to come back to London sometime.

Silence on the other end of the line.

"John? Are you still there?"

"Nick, are you telling me you found Roger?"

“I didn't find him, I bought him. Best spent £1,000 of my life.”


End file.
